A Pirate's Kitchen Knives and Sizzling Spices
by Whimsical Symphony
Summary: Lydia Pavlov, a chef for the Marines, hopes to be placed on a ship to explore the world, learn about different styles of cooking, and to discover unknown ingredients. Unfortunately, when the Whitebeard Pirates visit her godmother's bar, she's fired. As a last resort, a desperate Lydia tries to convince the pirates to let her join their crew so she can still sail the seas. [Ace/OC]
1. A Home Cooked Meal

**A Pirate's Kitchen Knives and Sizzling Spices**

_Written by Whimsical Symphony_

So, this is my first story in the One Piece archive, and it'll be an Ace/OC story. Hope you all enjoy. I tried to make a realistic character for people to enjoy and I rather like Lydia thus far. She's gone through several distinct personality shifts during her time being written, and I think I decided on a happy medium. For those who kept up with my profile, she did start off really innocent, and then became pretty scary and malicious, until I decided on keeping the first bit of her mostly, with a little bit of the second in circumstances. She became a lot nicer than I intended for her to be during initial changes and reverted more to her original form and I think this strikes more of a realistic balance.

And uh… Rosa will be making a reappearance soon. I actually like the manly woman in the polka dot dress too much to let go. She was so fun to write! Most ridiculous character I've written in a while, but hey, it's One Piece.

I hope you all enjoy and give me tips or comments of any kind. I don't bite, even if you want to rip my OC apart and say you hate her. After months, I finally decided to post this up, so I hope it works out. Happy reading!

* * *

**Chapter I - A Home Cooked Meal**

The scent wafted pleasantly up to her nose – meat, rice, steamed and marinated vegetables, a mixture of spices and the fresh scent of coriander which reminded her so much of home. When she opened her eyes, she reminded herself that this food would always reside in a dingy kitchen. Her surroundings made her frown. The knives and cutting boards, no one cleaned, flour lay strewn across tabletops – the entire kitchen was in disarray. All because no one here cared for cooking.

_Cooking is important, _she chanted religiously in her head as she focused on chopping the vegetables, _it makes people happy._

"What are you doing, Pavlov? Cooking these elaborate meals again?" Lydia looked up from the carrots she currently cut with precision. One of the other cooks stood in front of her, laughing at her effort, mocking her. "You know the soldiers like anything – why do you try so hard? No one'll reward you for your efforts, eh?"

"That's not true. Good cooking makes people happy," Lydia repeated dutifully what her Papa always told her.

And she believed it. Who didn't like the warm scent of well-made coffee and tasty food when home from a long journey? The Marines would have been grateful for it, she thought. After a long time of sailing and trying to stop criminals, protecting civilians, who wouldn't like a home cooked meal? Her Papa wanted to make every soldier feel at home, all while exploring the world and discovering new ways of cooking.

People liked good cooking, so why shouldn't he have cooked? It made people happy and joyful.

So, he took that all to the ships and travelled with the Marines from this base on the island she'd grown up on all her life, Mercator Island, making lavish food all the time for them while fulfilling his dreams of discovering new ingredients and dishes, rare ingredients one wouldn't find on Mercator, recording them all in his notebook until his passing in an unfortunate accident. He'd been the best cook that this building of Marines had known, but some time since then, only low ranks in the Marines who wanted to climb joined the cooking crew to save expenses on hiring cooks like her Papa. Now no one cared – now home cooked meals didn't exist, and her food went by underappreciated.

And her tears that she cried for her dead father... No one knew what happened to him. No one humoured her. Her cooking let her be close to him. People liked good cooking, so she cooked. She always stood by that ideal.

"Your father may've been a good cook – but what need does a bunch of soldiers have for that? All they need is something edible," he mocked, while tossing a bunch of uncomplimentary ingredients together.

The scent that reached her nose didn't smell nearly as pleasant, nearly as cozy and homey, like someone actually put their love into it.

"Soldiers need something to keep their spirits up, that's what," Lydia argued fiercely, before flushing a little at her own outspokenness. The cook across from her glared and she staunchly ignored his presence. He could glare all he wanted but she wouldn't take her words back.

Finally, with a show of attitude, he threw his apron on a nearby counter and left without another word.

Maybe someday her dream would come true. Someday she'd travel the seas like her Papa once did, learning the cooking of all sorts of people – from the cooking of Alabasta to the cooking of Amazon Lily. One day, the Marines would recognize her need for good food and she'd be able to travel on a ship. One day, she knew it would happen.

As long as no one said cooking was flat out useless, she'd stay cool about it.

But the depressing thoughts remained as she clutched ladle in her hand harshly, felt the tension in her muscles.

"Did you not like my cooking, sir?" Lydia mumbled to herself, moving to sauté some onions. "I apologize for not cooking well enough."

She slammed her knife on top of an onion, chopping it in half.

* * *

"Auntie Rosa, I brought back some cake I baked today; it's really tasty!"

She walked back to the bar that night where her godmother resided, located next to plenty of other similar places, since Mercator Island revolved completely around small shops – many tourists bought small trinkets and such from. Their island, being just a small tourist joint, really had no need for their small Marine base, so the soldiers were unruly, and they all rather would just have no work. And they didn't respect chefs. As long as soldiers fought and ate whatever, they'd be fine, they thought.

Hiring chefs cost good money they'd rather use to expand what they had available to tourists and their military, to some extent.

Nearly everyone became a businessperson of some kind on Mercator, at least in spirit. Sure, doctors still existed, and maybe engineers, but everyone became some sort of businessman, even them. They spent their lives trying to earn the most money they could, fool gullible tourists. Nothing really had heart on Mercator. People cared about money, that's it.

Artists sold their trinkets and made them cheaply; she hadn't seen real art in quite some time. Doctors made the biggest wads of cash from people who visited their island over making claims that they suffered from some sort of exotic gastrointestinal problem when it was really just the stomach flu. Engineers built things for amusement of those tourists.

Nothing really had soul on Mercator Island. It was barren of everything but fraud and money. They catered to tourists, a land full of business people. They didn't have anything that made them, _them_, like a culture on Alabasta or Dressrosa. They were solely business people, nothing else, no matter how many careers existed on the island. They weren't true, only false.

And Lydia hated to consider herself one, so she supposed that didn't make her fit in quite right.

When she walked inside her godmother's residence, she didn't expect for it to be so crowded – full of rowdy men, seemingly celebrating something or another, clinking glasses of frothy ale together and singing songs.

Her godmother, a large, tough and very masculine looking woman with strangely feminine golden locks of hair and layers of makeup, served a few of them with large pitchers of beer which they quickly drank, leaving not a drop as they continued to become drunker and drunker.

"Oh, Lydia, back already? And you brought cake? I've been dyin' for your cooking all day, hon," Rosa answered, beckoning Lydia to come to the counter with her, which she did.

Rosa liked her cooking. That happiness, that feeling of contentedness, relieving her tension, that soothing feeling, washed over her. Rosa liked her too, if she liked her cooking. Rosa was happy and wouldn't leave her.

Lydia quickly set down the cake on the counter while walking around customers in the cramped bar who swayed and whose faces where undeniably as red as fire trucks.

"I didn't expect for it to be so crowded… who are these people?" Lydia asked curiously, looking how rugged they seemed, yet so jolly. Adventurers, maybe?

"Bunch of pirates. They look the part, don't they? The Whitebeard Pirates, they are," Rosa answered. She cut herself a nice fat slice of cake and ate it. Her smile widened and she smacked her lips, smudging her lipstick a fair bit around her lips. "Yummy as always, Lydia. Your father would've been proud!" Then, she looked at Lydia's expression of surprise for a moment before giggling almost sheepishly. "Oh, probably shouldn't have told a Marine that pirates were about. But it doesn't matter – pirates are people too, aren't they? Everyone needs good food and drinks to pass the day, huh?"

And that did make her think about her Papa and not be so jaded by the way of the Marines. Maybe they were redeemable people, she didn't know. But her Papa would've said that everyone needed food in their stomach too, whether pirate or soldier, everyone needed a nice taste of home.

Besides, shamefully, Lydia found herself envious of a life of piracy: out all on the sea all day long from sunrise to sunset, even while the stars blanketed the sky, able to find out about new cultures all on the seas, learn from their cooking, borrow their ingredients... Looking at all their faces now, she knew that the notorious Whitebeard Pirates lived a life of enjoyment on the high seas. She wanted to become a cook aboard a ship too, but she never did know how long it would take for the Marines to even want a lowly kitchen girl like her.

But she even wondered if a rugged bunch like them even appreciated good cooking when they ate it. Maybe they just didn't care, and maybe they found it useless just like all the others.

"Hey Rosa, you got any more food? The meat really hit the spot."

Lydia looked at the grinning man who asked while sitting on a wooden barstool, a ridiculously handsome, well-built man who didn't seem to wear a shirt (which made her blush horribly, of course), had a tattoo on the expanse of his back, and wore a cowboy hat on his head. Strange attire, or lack of, she thought with a laugh. Though she found it rather strange.

Mercator was a little bit chilly, perhaps not as cold as some other islands out there, but chilly and rainy much of the time. Apparently he didn't feel it at all, but she imagined that when it came to the extremely cold islands, he did have to bundle up or risk pneumonia.

His almost childish freckles seemed to stand out when he smiled as well. He seemed too pleasant looking to be a pirate, especially one on an extremely infamous pirate crew.

"Oh, Ace, hon, my goddaughter just arrived. She's the best cook you'll ever meet and she'll cook you something right up! Consider it an honour, okay?" Rosa winked at him and nudged Lydia in the side. "Lydia, this gorgeous piece of man is Ace. Ace, this is my Lydia, my dear, dear Goddaughter with such a penchant for cooking she can make a delicious cake like this." She pretty much shoved the whole box of cake forward with a new knife and fork for Ace to use.

Ace didn't know how to react to being called a gorgeous piece of man.

"Ace?" she almost squeaked. Lydia didn't consider herself a fool, and to entertain the thought that the pleasant man in front of her was 'Fire-Fist Ace', the man with a terribly high bounty, one of the commanders on the Whitebeard crew, could have been foolish or intelligent. "_That_ Ace?"

Ace took a huge hunk of cake on the fork and stuffed it into his mouth, then commented, "Nice cake, really delicious. You weren't lying at all, Rosa." He gave a charming grin to the both of them, then removed his hat before turning to Lydia. "Ace D. Portgas, nice to meet-"

To her shock, without completing his sentence at all, he simply collapsed, face-first, into the wood of the bar counter. Without even giving her a chance to mull over his cooking compliment. A chill entered her heart as she wondered if he was okay. Panicking, she rushed to the other side and began to shake him.

"Hello, wake up, are you okay?" She began to speak louder, closer to him in an effort to wake him up before her eyes widened. "Oh no… what if my cooking killed somebody? Is he… is he allergic to dairy or something? Or maybe I poisoned him, but I cooked the cassava in the cake just right so it shouldn't be! I made such an amateur mistake." She shivered just thinking about it. Just thinking about how cooking did have the capability to kill someone due to the toxicity of various ingredients scared her. And she just killed the invincible 'Fire-Fist Ace' with it! "I just killed someone!"

Rosa looked just as shocked, her palm over her mouth in surprise. "What should we do, oh no…"

"Don't worry about it. He'll be good in no time at all. The cassava in the cake didn't kill him; I never even knew it was considered poisonous," a voice answered, bored and sleepy sounding. It came from an equally exhausted looking, lean man with messy blonde hair. "This always happens."

"What do you mean?" Lydia questioned. Rosa looked just as confused. She frowned looking rather depressed. "I just killed someone with my cooking. Papa would have told me to be more attentive…"

"You didn't kill him," the man answered before taking a seat next to Ace. "Hey, another pint of beer, would you?"

Before she could chastise him for his apparent insensitivity, Ace sprang back to life and stretched once.

"Y-you're not dead?" Lydia questioned the man, completely shocked. She pinched her own skin and yelped in pain. "So… I'm not dreaming right? You're _really_ not dead? I didn't kill you with my cooking?" She poked him once in the shoulder to make sure that he indeed was alive.

Ace laughed loudly and told her, "Don't worry, I'm all good. I have a habit of falling asleep at random times." He said this as if it were completely and utterly normal, as if he didn't just give her the biggest scare of her life.

He put his hat back on which he let go of during his tumble.

"You scared the life out of Lydia, dear. She thought her food killed you! Only this young gentleman here seemed to know what was going on." Rosa giggled like a schoolgirl and filled up a pint of beer for the bored man beside Ace. Pushing it over the counter to him she then mentioned, "Oh, for letting us know though, that'll be on the house. Don't you worry about it at all! What's your name, hon?"

"Marco, and no problem," he answered her, taking a nice big gulp of beer. "I'm used to watching out for him and making sure he doesn't scare anyone with that."

Ace grinned sheepishly. He then stood up and walked to Lydia. Placing a hand on her shoulder he complimented, "I really don't think this cake could kill me. It's delicious – you're a great cook!" He removed his grip on her then his grin slowly transformed into a frown when he mentioned, "Much better than all the stuff we eat at sea. Most of the time we have to make do with what we have, huh? And everyone cooks 'cause the crew is so large… and four ships, well the others do what they can on their ships too."

Four ships? Lydia noted that they did have a very large crew, and she wondered what all of them ate. All of them probably learned how to cook to some extent, probably made their own meals too… but…

Ace effectively proved to her everything she'd been striving for and everything her Papa held true: that people needed meals when they were on ships, nice home cooked meals, and that cooking made people happy. He complimented her cooking, called it delicious, and if she ever heard that from anybody after her cooking becoming so ignored at the Marine base, she never expected to hear it from a pirate, and 'Fire-Fist Ace' at that!

Warm feelings pooled in her heart and she found herself smiling widely at him, to this pirate who seemed to enjoy eating her cooking. That's all she ever wanted, people to feel happy and to get a chance to learn all the types of cooking that existed in the world. And she wanted someone to like her, just a little, and if they tasted her cooking they would. His compliment pleased her.

"I-I'll cook you something up right now, alright?" Lydia flushed, averting her eyes from his chest, of course, clasping her hands together and feeling a little guilty for thinking before that maybe his kind wouldn't appreciate her cooking at all. "You're… not allergic to anything right? I don't want to kill you."

Yes, she wanted to give him food filled with her effort. And she'd be attentive to it too, so if he did have any allergies he wouldn't wind up dead like she thought he had been just a little while earlier.

Ace laughed again and told her, "Nope."

So she headed with a skip in her step to the kitchen to make the greatest meal she'd ever made for a pirate who appreciated her food. That'd show that stupid Marine who mocked her that cooking made people happy, even a pirate!

People were people and everyone needed good meals and good drinks in their stomach, Rosa and Papa both said. She agreed with them wholeheartedly and prepared to make a meal full of meat, because Ace said that it hit the spot! She'd cook up the best meat that a pleasant looking pirate like him would ever try.

* * *

Lydia, filled with warm feelings from the night before, didn't really feel scared when her superior sat her down for a chat the next day. She did wonder what he wanted with a lowly kitchen girl like her. Lydia hadn't been called in for any sort of talk except on the first day she'd entered the Marines with high hopes that one day she'd be considered good enough to be in a position to cook for soldiers on a ship and research recipes all the while as her Papa did.

"It shames me to say this Pavlov, but we need to discharge you from the Marines, dishonorably at that."

The fat, pudgy man, with yellowing teeth, Supervisor Bogy, who sat her down, sighed and frowned in some feigned attempt to make her think he did really feel sorry for it. Her blood ran cold and she replayed what he said in her mind; discharging her, he said, which meant that all her dreams, he effectively shattered into irreparable bits in just that moment – no ships to travel on, no looking at the great blue sea all day and night while chatting merrily with a crew who appreciated her cooking.

No making people _**happy**_.

Her hands trembled in her lap.

_I have to cook, I have to cook, I have to cook_

What could she even do without cooking?

"You… don't mean that, right?" Lydia pleaded. "Have I done something wrong? I really don't know what it is I've done – if you do I'll correct it immediately, sir!"

And she really did mean it. If she could do anything to retrieve her dreams, have them not leave her and deem her useless, brush the wind again and hold it close to her as she once did, a treasure deep within her heart she could always call and hope upon, something which brought her close to her Papa, she would do it.

"Well, you _are _a good cook, not that we really need it," he told her, shocking her right then and there, breaking her more. "But, the real issue here is that it's been noted by some people who live nearby that a bunch of pirates visited your godmother's establishment. We can't really control what she does, but we _can_ control what you do." He reached his pudgy hand out to the cup of coffee on the nearby table and drank a noisy sip of the bitter, tasteless black liquid before setting it down with a large thump again. Lydia shuddered. "We're going after them tonight. And we don't want the rumour floating about that a Marine associates with pirates. It's crime enough that they were let in."

"I had… nothing to do with that though," Lydia whispered, feeling the tears collecting in her eyes.

She imagined Ace's smiling face and the merriment that all the pirates shared while drinking and eating, how much Ace seemed to enjoy her cake and the meat she made afterward for him. Marco tried some after and also told her that it was some good food, and eventually she ended up cooking enough for all the pirates. Her food passed around in large quantities and for some reason, even though the work exhausted her, she felt contented, like someone actually appreciated her.

Then, she knew she couldn't change things, and knew that being with the Marines at this base who barely appreciated cooking and wouldn't put her on a ship _really_ wouldn't make her dream come true and would abandon her regardless of what she did.

Lydia couldn't be herself without cooking. She had to cook. For people. Without it… she didn't even want to imagine it.

Idly, Lydia thought about how travelling with the pirates would feel like, going from island to island learning new ways of marinating meats and vegetables, learning new dishes, and most of all, discovering new ingredients to add depth to her dishes. She wondered whether her Papa would have even been fine with her thinking about travelling with outlaws. But then, she thought he would. Anything to travel the world.

Her Papa didn't have much attachment to the Marines, only to the benefits they brought him.

But what of all the time she spent with the Marines? Surely it had to mean something to her. She treasured all the work she put in, and some happy faces she did see when people managed to catch her cooking for lunch and dinner.

"It pains me to say it, but we'll have to remove you from our ranks," Bogy told her almost nonchalantly, "regardless of if you had anything to do with it or not. The reputation of our glorious Marines is at stake." Then he whispered spitefully to himself, but she heard anyway, "Cooks thinking they want to waste one good spot on our ships. Regular soldiers know how to cook basic things, no need for 'em really. Cooking is damn useless."

And that really had been the last bit of straw that broke the camel's back for Lydia who held cooking so close to her heart since when her Papa taught her how to cook her first omelette. So, she finally broke free of the bonds which held her from exploring the sea and all its mystical ingredients and stood up, removed the blazer over top her plain white shirt which signified her as part of the cooking crew, and threw it in the man's face.

If she couldn't cook here, she had no reason to be here. This couldn't even be considered a loss. All she lost was the company of a pathetic moron who couldn't even get any happiness from her cooking. How sad was that? She was abandoned, sure, she knew that but no one insulted cooking and got by without experiencing her wrath. It surged for Bogy right now, without restraint.

Placing the blazer on the chair, she laughed bitterly, then said, "I'm leaving. You don't even _need_ to fire me, _Supervisor Bogy_. Rumours about fraternizing with pirates or not, once your crews start crying because of inedible food, feel a bit of remorse, okay?" Her gaze narrowed as she glared at him with all her heart, clenched her fists too. "_I don't even want to be here anymore! __**Good riddance!**__"_

Really, she left before she had the urge to do something regrettable. If she ever met him again, she swore she'd feed him an incorrectly prepared pufferfish and wouldn't feel bad if he ended up hurling and feeling awful.

That was what he got for ruining her dreams like he did, for something she couldn't control. Lydia only regretted that she hadn't left sooner, when she noticed they didn't appreciate her, not at all.

Even if it hurt, even if that pain filled her, the sweet success of her words counteracted that.

She walked out without one look back (except just once at the man's widened eyes and the thin trail of coffee down his chin that he accidentally spat out, in shock.) Never once did Lydia feel so liberated, so free and content, and proud of a man's suffering from a verbal lashing (without it turning physical).

Clasping her hands behind her, she knew what she'd decided in life and how closely she held the art of cooking to her. Grinning widely, she sprinted toward her godmother's bar to give her farewells and find out where the Whitebeard Pirates were now.


	2. Family Recipe

**A Pirate's Kitchen Knives and Sizzling Spices**

_Written by Whimsical Symphony_

So, here is chapter two of this story. Sorry for it taking some time, but the reasoning was that some information was actually confirmed by Oda when I thought it wasn't. It's kind of embarrassing to admit but I took creative liberties with the fact that Haruta's gender was never actually confirmed in canon when Oda recently said that there were no women at the battle of Marineford, so Haruta is actually a dude. So, that ruined part of my story and I had to go back and edit. There's still a bit more I have to go through because of it, just so it all goes over well. That being said, I still believe that Whitebeard does have female pirates because... well, why wouldn't he?

I'm also happy Lydia isn't hated thus far since I try my hardest to create realistic OCs who are likable. God knows I hate annoying OCs as well! My favourite OC to write in this story is Rosa though, just saying.

Anyway, thank you for the reviews, favourites, follows etc. Any criticism would be welcome as well and I'm happy you all are enjoying the story thus far.

* * *

**Chapter II – Family Recipe**

After walking to the bar, currently closed to customers, Rosa trotted almost immediately toward her, dressed as flamboyantly as usual in a pink polka-dotted dress way too small for her muscular, broad shouldered form and a pair of pumps. Her stained lips tilted into a frown when she didn't see the Marine blazer that Lydia wore.

Before she could even ask anything, Lydia out the truth. "I quit, Auntie." Then, she flushed and held her hands close together, looking away from Rosa before admitting, "Well, they were about to fire me but I quit first. They made me too angry." She smiled widely then, though a little forced. "I don't regret it one bit. I realized I was getting nowhere with them anyway."

If they fired her, she couldn't cook for people aboard a ship like her Papa. She wouldn't make people happy with her cooking. She couldn't live like that.

Rosa looked at Lydia for a moment, scanning her from head to toe before frowning. "You lost your temper, didn't you…" Lydia nodded her head, looking unrepentant. "Well, I can't blame you, those guys're infuriating! Don't know why you didn't leave sooner, dear!" Rosa nodded her head, remembering how many times she herself wanted to punch a Marine in the face. "Why'd they decide to fire you, hon?" Rosa asked curiously, looking very sad that her Goddaughter endured such a thing.

She embraced Lydia close to her. She heard her heartbeat lulling her into some sort of trance of pulsating rhythms and dances. One of the last hugs she'd ever receive from Rosa, she realized then, a warm but sorrowful one that reminded her of rains and showers on a day where the sun peaked through the clouds ever so slightly.

Her mouth moved, and she found herself telling lies to spare Rosa the guilt that she knew would come with thinking it was all her fault. Lydia wanted to protect her from those feelings, be her shield for even a little while, even while knowing that the truth would come out when the Marines went to look for the pirates.

"They just said they didn't need cooks anymore. But Auntie, it's okay," she pulled away and gave her the most cheerful smile she could muster, "I quit first. No one insults cooking and gets away with it!"

Lydia left to spare Bogy the pain of food poisoning. She knew he liked her cooking. If she stayed any longer, she would've served him something inedible to get her revenge.

Even if, the thoughts circled through her mind that they weren't happy with her cooking and that's why they let her go. Her cooking wasn't satisfactory, she needed to cook more and more and more to remedy the issue.

Rosa laughed along with her for a little while before she said, "I do think you have somethin' else to tell me, don't you dear?" She could never escape Rosa knowing exactly what was up with her and when, she thought. Her lips move but no sound came out and she struggled, playing a game of tug-o-war with her words, trying to get them to tell her that she'd be travelling with the Whitebeard Pirates. Lydia settled for a frown and the buildup of tears she tried so hard to hold back rushed forward, making her look ever more like a tough little boy who scraped his knee and tried hard to tell his mommy 'it didn't hurt!' Rosa gasped and retrieved a handkerchief (she ever so smartly stuffed in her bra). She wiped away Lydia's tears, which reminded her all the more that she'd never be able to do this again. "There, there, now what do you need to tell Auntie Rosa? I'll support you in anythin', you know, hon?"

So reluctantly, Lydia told her (through tears), that she wanted to travel with the Whitebeard Pirates because right now, they were her only option to travelling the world and discovering all kinds of cooking, finding all the rarest cooking ingredients on different islands, exotic spices, dangerous but delicious plants and collecting them, noting down their discovery in her leatherbound notebook. Rosa gave her a sad smile but supported her. Lydia couldn't be more thankful for such a great godmother.

"Thank you," Lydia whispered into Rosa's chest as she hugged her tight.

"No problem, hon! Your father would've told you to follow your dreams, yeah? Well I think so too. At nineteen, you gotta go follow your heart," Rosa told her, crying a lot as well now, making large sorts and sniffles similar to someone with the flu. "And I trust them friendly, good-lookin' pirates with your life, okay?"

Even if, Rosa thought, her goddaughter could take care of herself quite well if someone made her angry enough. Meeting an angry Lydia would give someone nightmares for weeks.

They both wailed like petulant children for the next little while, and Lydia wouldn't have it any other way. Before her departure, Lydia took her beloved collection of spices that she painstakingly saved during her time on the island, and her notebook with her only filled now with the ingredients she'd discovered from her time on Mercator; somehow, she wished she could continue her Papa's book, but it fell into the deep, deep depths of the sea when he died.

It was up to her completely to create a new style of cooking, to know what her father knew about everything, from cutting the poisonous liver out of a puffer fish, to what parts of the elder berry plant to use in drinks without killing a person, to how much nutmeg to use in a dessert to make them taste absolutely delicious. She would take on this challenge. Lydia hugged her book closer to her and tried not to think about how lonely it would be without Rosa there with her.

* * *

The marketplace on the island was tiny, with a small number of traders and people like Rosa who owned restaurants and bars and had grey cobblestone, some rundown buildings, ancient architecture of grey stone, and curved, coloured roads and stone that could have probably been mistaken for something greatly historical, if Mercator _had_ any history.

People only wanted to fool the tourists into giving them cash, fool them into thinking they had something worth spending money on. They only had class divides, and merchants really. And corrupt leaders who wanted more money, merchants themselves, so made sure that every merchant on the island overcharged all their goods for naïve tourists and hiked up taxes exponentially.

The small amount of people who wandered around were a little more bundled up. While Mercator didn't compare to the winter islands, their climate lay on the colder end of the spectrum with gloomy, grey, cloudy skies and rain much of the time. Lydia pulled her fur hat a little over her ears to protect them from the cold.

Lydia and Rosa never lived in the wealthier area of town, either, more the poorer. Lydia heard rumours floating around that members of the Whitebeard Pirates had been spotted in this marketplace, probably to pick up some trinkets and necessities before they departed. So she looked for any faces she recognized among swarms of people she didn't, of Marco, of Ace, of anyone who she could ask to join their crew.

She grew disheartened when she didn't see either of them – the messy blonde hair on anyone, or the childish freckles on an adult. But then, she remembered, she had to keep going, she already quit the Marines and only had this one chance to fulfill her dream.

With renewed passion, she searched the streets and walked into random stores for the hope that she'd find the pirates.

One store seemed to attract a lot of attention, a regular old restaurant she visited sometimes. The crowd had never been so large, so chatty, and so incredibly dense. Lydia pushed past bodies and found her way inside.

"What on Earth?" Lydia questioned.

The crowd of people most densely populated the area around the bar counter. Peering between bodies, she tried to get a better look at what the huge spectacle was. Eventually squeezing in between nooks and crannies between people, she saw Ace, once again collapsed while eating.

"Is he dead?" one person whispered to another.

His female companion muttered, "You take me to a place where food kills its customers for our anniversary?"

Not having the guts for doing what she had to, she knew, she flushed before saying very loudly, "He's not dead. He always does this."

One look at the relieved chef and she knew she'd done a good thing. After all, it hurt a cook to think that their food killed somebody. Cooking made people happy, but bad cooking made people equally unhappy.

She remembered her own shock when she thought she killed Ace with her cooking, the chill that entered her veins, freezing her blood as she pleaded for him to wake up. Of course it had been a little overdramatic, but she honestly did think he died. Reluctant to touch his bare skin, wishing that he did in fact wear a shirt, she poked him once and then twice and told him to wake up. A feeling of elation surfaced within her, that she finally could ask him about joining his crew.

Ace woke up immediately, shocking the crowd, then faced Lydia. "Hey, it's you." He looked a little confused then, at the crowd and her appearance. "Did you need me for something? Came to cook me more food?" He grinned at her.

"Oh, so he didn't die? What an odd boy, and his lack of clothing for this climate... His girlfriend sure knew what was happening," an old woman said loudly, speaking the thoughts of everyone else in the place.

Ace looked forward to her cooking, Lydia thought, her cooking could make someone happy instead of how many people it usually made unhappy. Her heart swelled.

But then Lydia flushed and wanted to protest that she barely knew Ace at all, she wasn't his girlfriend. He seemed unbothered and then, she felt foolish. Slowly, the whispers subsided and the crowd broke up and everyone went back to doing what they were doing again.

Lydia clasped her hands behind her back and took a deep breath then, willing herself to just ask. What harm could it do? Ace, she looked at him, though a rugged pirate, seemed very pleasant. She didn't think he'd murder her for asking. Not at all.

"Well… I kind of have a request to make. Would you hear me out?"

"Hm? Sure," he responded, shoveling his food down his throat as he might've been doing before he fell asleep. Looking at the way he ate, she chuckled as she thought he even ate like a child. When he finished, astonishingly enough, he said to the chef after bowing clumsily, "Thanks for the food. It was really good," and without an ounce of shame, hightailed it out of there, taking Lydia with him by the arm as she struggled to run with him.

Just once, she wished she'd been more athletic. Her lungs burned terribly. And the guilt ate at her. The chef needed money too, didn't he? But Ace just ran for it, and she was forced to follow. Lydia found herself in a sour mood when she heard the yells behind them.

"You didn't pay!" the chef complained loudly, but was far too old to chase after them himself. He was a frail, thin old man who looked as if he'd break any second.

Ace looked happy as he took them outside and to the nearby town square, nothing special really, just a small fountain in the middle of a paved area with a few benches strewn about and stores surrounding the perimeter. He sat down on one of the benches then, and let go of her arm.

"So, what'd you need to ask me?" He looked at her, smiling pleasantly as if nothing ever happened.

Lydia frowned. "You didn't need to do a dine-and-dash," she told him weakly, hands on her knees, struggling to catch her breath. "That was cruel."

"It was fun," he corrected smoothly. He looked at her once, her flushed cheeks and her blonde hair in utter disarray and started to laugh. "Learn to live a little. So, I'm sure you didn't come to lecture me, did you?" She noticed that there might've been more to it than that, and decided if she indeed lectured him about the ethics of running away before paying, he'd probably find her annoying and never let her join the crew. He paused then, and frowned a little. "If you did, please spare me." He looked a little frightened, actually, like a kid about to get a good scolding from his mom.

Lydia knew, that no matter how frustration pooled within her at the thought of a dine-and-dash, she needed to let it go. She needed to cook aboard the ship.

Lydia sat down on the bench next to him, though she kept apparent space between them. Frowning, she mentioned reluctantly after taking a deep breath, "I'll leave it alone… just don't do that again – if you do," she glared at him, "I'll pull you back there and make you pay, okay?"

Ace sighed in relief as she left the subject alone, glad to not find her chattering endlessly about it, no matter how highly she held cooking. It was a little funny, though, he thought.

Looking at random people who passed by, she began to speak, not wanting to look at his expression as she did. She knew she'd lose her confidence and crawl back into some hole then, and she couldn't afford to be cowardly right now. She knew she should have been brave, just like she was with that Marine, quitting before he could fire her.

"Listen, I want to join your crew."

"You… want to join a pirate crew?" he sounded confused and reluctant, and really, she couldn't blame him. To him, she only played the role of a regular girl on an island, one who cooked him some good meat, but that was about it. "Why?" He seemed awful curious.

"Well, I always wanted… to explore the seas, learn new types of cooking and discover the rarest ingredients the Grand Line has to offer, so because of that, I joined the Marines hoping to be placed on a ship." Lydia thanked him for remaining quiet while she told him.

Lydia wanted to cook, make people happier, because when they became happy, she did too. And just the thought of all the different spices she could find on different islands, all the different foods, caused her heart to thrum in anticipation.

She found it hard enough voicing what she needed to, telling someone her motivations, her motto for living. And how much time she wasted with the Marines, who didn't appreciate anyone but soldiers and would have abandoned her regardless of what she'd done.

Maybe she _should _have become a merchant, she thought at one time, like Rosa, like all the people on their island in some fashion. She could make money from cooking here, mass-produce her food, but she wouldn't truly learn anything, and if she didn't learn, she wouldn't make people happy. And Lydia wanted to cook with heart.

She would stick with standardized cooking meant to make money. Mercator didn't even have a distinct dish or method of cooking either. All the food on Mercator catered to the tourists.

Or, she could become a soldier whose duty truly was to make the island just look secure for tourists, but really only contained a rowdy bunch only interested in being lazy.

But her Papa followed his dreams and became a chef, even sailed the seas back when things on their island had been better, back when there'd been more money for the Marines to spend on paying chefs only a little less than a soldier even though they didn't fight. Even though they didn't have much money, Lydia enjoyed eating her own creations with her Papa and learning from scratch how to make them, construct them from millions of ingredients combined and mixed like paint in a palette into one.

"My Papa sailed the seas and learned all types of cooking before he died, even learned about the most delicious spices added to dishes people rarely even think about. But then he died, no one really knows how, but the rest of his crew was never found either. But on this island, they don't care much for chefs anymore, or ever really. They fired me… well I quit first," she mentioned in an effort to retain some pride, "because they'd never end up putting me on a ship to cook. And they knew you all were at the bar, so they fired me because they didn't want rumours floating about that a Marine talks to pirates. What a load of hooey, right?" When she looked at him, he seemed to listen to her intently, then she continued, "Anything to sail the seas. I want to join your crew," she said determinedly. "I'll… I'll cook lots of delicious food for all of you."

Lydia tried to look as pathetic as possible. If she managed that, maybe he'd take pity on her poor, kicked dog like demeanor and let her join.

"Fired because of us visiting Rosa's bar, huh?" he mused, completely ignoring her embarrassed flush.

He felt a little guilty. He knew they were outlaws and this island wasn't one protected by Pops. He thought the least he could do was hear her out. That course of action seemed the only polite one. She seemed serious, but not at all mad at the pirates who caused this.

"I quit, I didn't get fired," Lydia corrected, hoping to salvage some of that pride. That one tongue lashing she gave that Marine, she prided herself on. To her, she would have quit anyway, they just gave her an incentive to.

"I can't really decide considering I'm not Pops," Ace told her, ignoring her statement. "You seem pretty sure though. I'm just worried you won't be able to take care of yourself. Pirating can get pretty rough, you know?"

He looked once at her and noted how terribly cowardly she looked (though she didn't seem to be cowardly at all when it came to cooking). Probably wouldn't last one second in a fight, he thought with a grimace. And so frail looking, like any old village girl; short, straight, clean cut blonde hair button nose, overall too sheltered and innocent looking, a childlike face, looking even smaller with her fur hat and puffy dress (some kind of odd Mercator traditional clothing, maybe, he thought, not even taking into account his own lack of clothing being stranger). If any pirate she fought wanted to take her seriously, they'd start laughing before handing her ass to her.

Then, he thought of the food she cooked and how good it was. To have that kind of food every day, would honestly make pirating more enjoyable even if they weren't _lacking _in the cooking department and they all avoided Marco's like the plague. Good food was always welcome and there couldn't be too much of it.

"If I get in a fight or anything, I promise I'll _kick anyone's ass_ who comes at me," Lydia declared a little unsurely, trying to sound tough with pirate speak she heard around. Shaking her head a little, she said honestly, "Don't worry, I can take care of myself quite well. Maybe not up to pirating standards, but well enough. And I know a lot about plants and meat in cooking too. It comes in handy, especially if you're on an island and you don't know what to eat… like if I really needed to… Mayapples for example are really delicious to make a pie out of! But, if you eat the unripe parts or any other part of the plant you'll get bad diarrhea. It's not good for constipation either, because it's poisonous and you'll be miserable for days depending on how much you ate! You wouldn't want to eat those at all." Then pausing, she continued earnestly, "And if you're sick, I know what foods would be good to help you recover. I'm no doctor, but I could help alleviate the symptoms!"

Lydia looked determined to prove to him her knowledge came in handy, which it probably did in all honesty even though Ace didn't know how he felt about talking about diarrhea to someone when she was trying to join the crew. Blushing, embarrassed, it seemed as if she figured out how she could have picked any other plant, but stupidly decided to explain the mayapples effect on stools.

Ace laughed aloud, not even bothering to hide how he made fun of her.

Lydia cursed her own desperation because it made her look stupid. But whatever she needed to say, she thought, in order to convince him, she would say even though she wished she chose another plant to explain not dealing with diarrhea.

Ace laughed even more when she attempted to glare at him for laughing at her. She only seemed to look more childish. "Alright then, I'll bring you aboard the Moby Dick. You can introduce yourself to Pops, but I can't make any promises." He then outstretched his hand to her and mentioned, "Since I fell asleep last time. I'm Ace D. Portgas, it's nice to meet you, potential crewmate."

By Pops, she supposed he meant Whitebeard, the most powerful of pirates. Though he affectionately referred to him as his dad. The thought of him made her tremble a bit, but she thought, if a person like Ace was on board, and Marco, and all those cheerful pirates who laughed and drank and seemed so nice, then Whitebeard couldn't be a bad man.

Lydia took his hand, and when he held hers tightly, she noted how much larger they were than hers. "I'm Lydia Pavlov, it's nice to meet you too, Ace! I'll cook the best food you'll ever eat, trust me."

That, she could do, if nothing else.

"I'll hold you to it," he teased, then stood up. Walking a little, he gestured for her to follow him. "Come on."

Lydia nodded and got up, but ungracefully, she tripped over the space between one cobblestone and the next, her fur hat falling off in the process, and instead of something utterly romantic happening, she just fell down like a newborn foal learning to walk.

"Ouch," she muttered, feeling the sting on her knees from the fall.

"You _sure_ you can take care of yourself?" Ace asked her, frowning at her form on the ground.

"O-of course, I completely meant to do that," Lydia told him defensively. Ace snorted, clearly not believing her but not saying anything otherwise. Getting up slowly, she then remembered something she ought to have told Ace earlier, but forgot because of her own selfish desires. "Um, I may have forgotten to mention…" she started sheepishly, "Hypothetically, if I were to say now that the Marines _may_ have mentioned that they were going to search out your crew tonight, would you chew me out?" Flushing, she averted her eyes from his and tried not to look as guilty as she felt for not saying so earlier.

"Well, it's bad news but, nope." Ace shrugged, then grinned. "Happens often enough and we get away fine. I'd say we're doing the Marines a favour by retreating. They really don't want to see Pops angry." He shuddered at the thought.

Somehow, Lydia knew she didn't want to see Whitebeard angry either.

When she followed him, she sighed too, from relief that he didn't chew her out like he should have.

Ace also didn't need to know that if she knew how to do anything other than cooking, it was taking care of herself, even if she was a coward in the face of adversity sometimes. But maybe she'd need to adapt that to a pirating sense. She couldn't fight, and she knew she'd be a liability in the long run.

* * *

Whitebeard certainly looked intimidating. It truly didn't help that he looked much, much larger than the average human. Lydia wondered how many meals she'd have to cook to feed him alone.

He sat down on some of the stairs near the central region of the Moby Dick, staring at her intensely, almost like some sort of God towering a mortal. His large, crescent shaped mustache also seemed to look at her quite well. Despite all the medical devices attached to Mr. Edward Newgate because of his age, his muscular form indicated that his status as the most powerful pirate in the world was no joke.

Lydia attracted quite a crowd as well, some pirate stragglers in the middle of work, some of the commanders.

Ace stood behind her and spoke first, "Well, Pops, she's Lydia Pavlov, and wants to join our crew. What do you say?" He slung an arm around her to comfort her, and she flushed red from embarrassment.

Lydia knew from the first moment she saw him he embodied the laid back type, and the blunt type to the T. But, she thought, perhaps his bluntness and his ability to speak so easily about anything and everything, his easy acceptance of her explanation as to why she wanted to join his crew, was what she found refreshing about him, almost like a new season, spring creeping up unto winter. She found it difficult to speak with such ease, what to omit, what to actually say. The words burned at her tongue and throat, begging to come out, and damn, she wanted them to as well, but they stopped themselves. Lydia never could conduct herself in a straightforward manner like Ace.

"Gurarara! A cheeky brat from the island? She's trembling in her boots." Whitebeard laughed gaily at her request, but she didn't know whether that was a yes or no. Many of the other pirates laughed too. Funny enough, he had a kind voice. Even when calling her a brat, she understood his nature of a generous old man, not a cruel one. Many of the other pirates whispered about her fate, that maybe she'd be dropped off from where she came. Lydia hoped not, and the fear pumped with her blood from her heart, _ba-dump, ba-dump_, to a steady rhythm. Whitebeard looked at her then and inquired, "Well, what does a little girl want with a big, bad pirate crew?"

"I… want to travel the world and learn all kinds of cooking, discover new ingredients too. The Marines wouldn't ever put me on a ship, and I thought, why not with pirates? You all… seem perfectly nice," Lydia squeaked, trembling in her boots as he so accused her of.

Ace pat her on the back once as if to tell her not to be so nervous, that Whitebeard really was kind and wouldn't chew her out in the least.

Gathering some courage, she told him a little louder, "I know it sounds halfhearted – but I'll dedicate my life to this crew. I… may not be a very strong fighter," she admitted, though noting it was a teensy bit of an understatement, regardless of her terrifying anger sometimes, "b-but I can cook really well! I even know about different plants and meats and how they can be cooked and which ones are bad!"

"Apparently the mayapple causes bad diarrhea," Ace quipped. "Learned something new. If anyone's suffering constipation it might be good for you!" He looked at Marco and grinned. "I know you've been having stomach cramps haven't you?"

Marco was about to add that it wasn't from constipation, but his terrible cooking having the opposite effect, which meant that a laxative wouldn't be the best course of action.

"No it won't! Haven't you been listening? You'll be pooping for days!" Lydia corrected, frowning, then flushed, ignoring Ace's laughter for a moment. He'd probably never take her seriously. "Um… even if I can't fight, I'd cream anyone who i-insults the Whitebeard…. Pirates…" she stuttered and struggled her way through it all and looked even more like she would piss herself or cry than when she started.

Or poop herself. That could happen despite not eating any mayapples.

"Good cooking, hm?" Whitebeard looked very amused because of the girl. His son, Ace, couldn't contain a grin either. Funny that though he was just one man, one mortal man, he managed to instill such fear within others. "Good food is welcome and so is your information. We don't have many girls at all on this ship – you don't mind being surrounded by so many of my sons? They eat and drink quite a lot, you know." He looked at Ace specifically when he said this. His son simply grinned back.

"I'll cook a lot!" Lydia pleaded. "I know there are probably other cooks, but I'd love to cook with other people!"

She never knew when such a time in her life passed that she'd been so desperate for anything. Her Papa died mysteriously, and in a sense, her passion for cooking left too. She went on like a ghost cooking this and that, feeling empty and hollow like an already opened treasure chest. Hardly anyone appreciated it. She got the occasional smile from a few soldiers, and jovial response from Rosa, but no one else. People insulted her much more, or dismissed her talent which made her sad, and when they insulted cooking, annoyed.

When Ace looked so happy, and her food passed around the bar with cheers all around, she finally felt appreciated.

Then she knew, she needed to do something.

Lydia couldn't wait on the Marines forever to give her one chance. She needed to take her fate into her own hands.

"Please, just let me on board. I promise, Mr. Whitebeard. My dream is to explore the great seas and learn about the most mystical recipes and cooking ingredients," she declared, though a little uncertain as to what to call him. "I'll come in handy! I-I'll even learn to fight. I swear I can pack a mean right hook if I practice!"

Lydia became more and more uncertain. She imagined herself brandishing a frying pan, hitting some poor individual in the head with it and giving him a concussion. She'd guaranteed that people said she had some pretty deadly fighting skills, but only if guests wandered into her kitchen and tried to eat the food before she'd finished preparing it, especially her vegetable dressed fish and meat stews.

She hit a Marine's head with a ladle hard, rendering him unconscious when he insulted the art of cooking, making her quite angry, and then had the gall to try to eat it.

Oh yes, she'd grabbed Rosa's hands many a time away from tarts and cakes that hadn't finished preparing as well, and onions which hadn't sautéed completely. Out of the kitchen, she was a wreck. She doubted she could even land one measly scratch on someone like Ace even if she put her entire heart into it. No, she'd only win if she snuck something into his food that'd give him an upset stomach and leave him unable to fight. But… he'd still probably win, Ace-style, somehow.

"Her cooking really is good, Pops – makes Marco's cooking seem pretty bad and he's in charge of getting the commanders food three days a week since the real cooks are swamped with work. Most of us do better," Ace supplied helpfully, grinning smugly at an annoyed Marco behind him. "And she, uh, used to be a Marine. We visited her godmother's bar and apparently that's why she got fired."

Lydia looked a bit more nervous now, considering it wasn't every day a Marine became a pirate. Whitebeard looked at her, and that was enough to make her shuffle on the spot, like she had to go to the bathroom or some such other nonsense. He made her anxious. And so did the stares on her from discovering her previous day job.

"It was good," Marco admitted freely, ignoring the newly revealed knowledge, though looking as stoic and bored as ever. "Her inability to fight might be a bit of a problem though. I don't think her being a Marine before matters. They fired her, it's not like she'll run back to them." He shrugged.

Lydia noted just how dryly he said it, and though it was a bit painful, she knew he was right.

"Gurarara!" Whitebeard guffawed. This little girl in front of him had dreams, and dreams were one thing he respected, like he did family. He also trusted Marco's logic alongside his own. Even willing to fight for her dreams, he thought, as she looked quite ready to keel over. "We usually just make do with whoever can cook a little. Ace, you'll be responsible for her. She can take on cooking for the commanders."

Whitebeard already proved himself different than the Marines by accepting her cooking, admitting it would be nice. Lydia flushed, thinking about that, seeing that someone actually enjoyed what she did, appreciated it.

Ace smiled and nodded in response. "Alright, Pops. Though," he started, looking over at her sheepishly, "I don't think she'd appreciate sleeping in my room. Being proper and all that."

As expected Lydia flushed so red that she resembled an overgrown apple and he chuckled. "W-what?"

"You'll be responsible for ensuring she doesn't die, not being in her room" Whitebeard explained, amused. He looked at Lydia then and told her shocked self, "I have one condition. Become my daughter?"

And though Lydia only remembered one father – one who taught her how to make her first omelette and ice her first cake, she couldn't deny wanting to be part of a family once more.

Shuffling from one foot to another, not wanting to look at anyone and feeling unbelievably shy, almost as if she'd been forced to produce an impromptu performance in front of a large group of people she murmured, "F-father?"

Whitebeard laughed, and so did the rest of the pirates. They accepted her, she found, but laughed quite a bit at her formality.


End file.
